The Arrangement
by Muggle Jane
Summary: Ginny finds herself entering an arrangement with a certain Slytherin. Oneshot, written for the Not Another Fanfic Challenge


**A/N: Written for the Not Another Fanfic Challenge. Characters not mine, etc.**

Ginny was always selfishly glad to go to the Slug Club parties. Especially after she was banned from trips to Hogsmeade, it was a chance to get away for just a little bit. _And_, she thought to herself in a flash of guilt,_ there was no chance of getting detention at Slug Club_.

Slug Club had shrank a little bit since last year. Hermione and Harry were notably absent and McClaggen had graduated, which left only Melinda Bobbin, the Hufflepuff fifth year, to talk to. The Carrow twins- well, Ginny liked to associate with them as little as possible. And Blaise Zabini didn't seem to care to associate with too many people, what his motives were for continuing to attend the parties were was anyone's guess.

The parties were notably more strained as well. Conversation was superficial at best, and there were long periods of uncomfortable silence that even Horace Slughorn couldn't jolly away. But, as Ginny told herself in another flash of guilt, it was a chance to get away from the constant demands that her fellow DA members made of her. Neville and Luna helped out as best they could, but at the end of the day, everyone seemed to come to Ginny for everything.

Ginny was staring silently at her dish of ice cream. She wasn't really hungry, but every so often she would spoon another tiny bit into her mouth, trying to prolong the moment as long as possible. Being there was decidedly unpleasant, but it was more pleasant than it was almost certainly going to be when she left.

At last, Professor Slughorn declared that the students should turn in for the night if they wanted to get back before curfew. Everyone stood and said a polite goodbye to him and then started funneling out into the hall outside his door. Ginny dawdled, trying to preserve the time in his office for as long as possible. At last, however, she was in the long hallway and the door was shut firmly behind her. With a sigh, she started toward the Gryffindor Tower. She wanted to amble, to take her time through the chilled corridors of the castle as she had in the professor's office, but she knew it wasn't wise. Being caught about after curfew meant detention. And detention, depending on who caught her, could be very bad indeed.

"Weasley."

Ginny's eyes squeezed shut. She knew that voice- that smug, reedy voice. She opened her eyes and lifted her chin and turned towards the owner, the tall Theodore Nott. "Nott." She hadn't seen him come up behind her, but then she hadn't really been paying attention. Time was allowed for students to get back to their dormitories from Slug Club, and she'd been lost in enough self-pity that she'd foolishly been caught off-guard.

He smiled at her, thin-lipped and arrogant. "Head Boy Nott," he reminded her.

She refused to be cowed by him and stared up at him defiantly. She'd grown up with six older brothers, she wasn't about to let some Slytherin twit intimidate her.

Maybe he was still bitter about not being invited to the Slug Club. Or, more likely, he was just a Slytherin git. "I'm on my way back to my room," she told him, folding her arms across her chest as her brown eyes narrowed, a habit she'd picked up from the Weasley matriarch. "It's not after curfew, so shove off."

"It's not after curfew... yet." There was a threat in his voice.

"I don't have time for this." That was the unfortunate truth. She turned from him, intent on continuing her journey, but was stopped by a hand closing, vice-like, over her upper arm. He was latched on tightly enough that it was painful.

"We're not done here, Weasley."

She pulled her wand from her pocket and pointed it at him. "I'd let go if I were you," she suggested, her brown eyes blazing as her temper rose. His fingers bit cruelly in her arm, sure to leave bruises.

"Or what, you'll hex the Head Boy? I'm sure the Headmaster would be _delighted_." He sounded so sure of himself, so arrogant.

Ginny fixed her glare on his nose, wondering how it would feel to punch him. She raised her wand before her. It seemed she was destined for another detention, whether by being waylaid until she was about after curfew or doing physical harm to the young man before her. With that as the choice, she knew which option she wanted to take. She was just opening her mouth to hex him, when she felt the body heat of someone coming up quite close behind her. That was twice now someone had sneaked up on her unawares. _Maybe I'm not the best choice to lead the DA after all_, she thought to herself and the thought almost cheered her.

Nott's eyes widened just a little bit, seeming surprised. He recovered quickly enough. "Come to help me clean up the filth?" he sneered.

"I came looking for Ginny," the deep voice came from behind her, and she couldn't have been more surprised if Snape had shown up in a Sunday dress. She knew that voice. She'd just spent the better part of an hour with the owner of that voice. "She was supposed to meet me." A large hand slid familiarly over her hip and splayed possessively across her stomach.

Nott's face displayed all of the shock Ginny felt. "You can't be serious."

Ginny closed her eyes, willing herself very far away from where she currently was. The touch of a pair of warm lips at the soft skin at the side of her neck, just under her ear, had her eyes flying wide open again. She was frozen, locked in place by his very proximity.

"Are you calling me a liar, Nott?" The feel of his breath made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. There was an unspoken threat in those words and to Ginny's further surprise, Nott swallowed visibly and released her arm.

His eyes flicked between her face and the one hovering just over her shoulder, just a hairsbreadth away from her ear. "No. Far be it for me to stop you from... getting your hands dirty." One final glare at Ginny and Nott was striding away.

Ginny whirled, her thick curtain of hair flaring out before settling around her face. His hand caught in her robe, he refused to release her. "I don't need your help, Zabini," she snapped, her head falling back so she could meet his eyes, her own filled with fire.

"Who said I was helping... you?" His voice was slightly mocking.

"I thought you didn't touch blood traitors," she snapped. His hand was loose on her back now, she could have pulled away if she wanted to.

If she wanted to. Maybe it was because Harry had abandoned her; maybe it was because _no one_, not even her friends, understood, and their persistent neediness that filled every day except the hour or two stolen at the Slug Club left her feeling very alone, but she found herself not particularly wanting to go anywhere.

The long fingers of his free hand slipped through her silky hair, his palm coming to cradle the back of her head. "Then what am I doing right now?" he whispered, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke.

He didn't bother denying that was how he saw her, and somehow it made the whole encounter seem just a little more real. He brushed another soft kiss at that spot, just below her ear, and then he slipped from her and he was gone too, his long legs carrying him swiftly away.

The redhead stared after him for a moment and then scurried back to the Gryffindor tower as quickly and quietly as she could. She kept a close watch out for anyone else who would accost her, and was somewhat relieved when she spoke the password and slipped behind the portrait of The Fat Lady.

* * *

A couple of weeks later at breakfast, the owls were bringing in the mail. Ginny was sitting at the Gryffindor table with Neville and Seamus. None of them were saying very much; no one really talked in the Great Hall anymore. Except the Slytherins, of course. That lot was always loud now-a-days. It was Hogsmeade day, however, and there was just a thin thread of hopeful excitement in her friends.

But not Ginny. There was no escape for Ginny, not until school let out for the Christmas holidays.

She was quite startled when an owl dropped an envelope beside her plate of bacon. Her family didn't write much anymore, they all knew that they were under considerably scrutiny and didn't dare send anything that could end up in the wrong hands and be construed the wrong way.

"What's that, then?" Seamus asked, staring at the envelope. Her friends were at least somewhat aware, and sympathetic, of her isolation.

She lifted it up curiously and, upon seeing her name spelled out in the familiar cursive script on the outside, dropped it back on the table beside her plate. "Slughorn. The invitation to his Christmas party, no doubt."

"I'm sure he'll be disappointed when you don't show up," Neville said with wry grin.

Ginny stared at her friend for a few seconds. "Why wouldn't I show up?" she asked, her tone warning that the famous Weasley temper was starting to rise.

"What, do you really think you'll go? Dancing and chatting the night away with all those Slytherins? Sounds like a right good time." The two boys shared a laugh. When she didn't answer, the laughter ground to an uncomfortable halt.

"D'you want to go, then?" Seamus asked, leaning across the table to talk to her, his blue eyes widening in disbelief. "We've heard the rumors- everyone has- we just thought they were trying to mess with your reputation."

She'd heard the rumors herself, of course. Apparently she and Zabini were an item. No one had asked her directly and she hadn't bothered dispelling the lie when she heard it as she passed through the school. He'd done it on purpose, and she had to admit that she was very curious as to the nature of that purpose.

Ginny leveled a hard stare at him for a moment. "Oh, what do you know?" she demanded, her voice shaking with pent up emotion; and then, grabbing up the envelope, got up and swept from the room.

It had started when she'd woken up that morning, just as it did every morning. "Ginny, what should I... Ginny, I need... Ginny, how do you... Ginny, Ginny, Ginny," until she wanted to scream. _I will not cry_, she promised herself as she stormed off, not really paying attention to where her feet were taking her.

She realized that she was outside when she shivered. It was rapidly turning to winter and while the sun was out that morning, weak and hazy, it was no weather to be out without a cloak.

She felt something brush against lightly against the back of her leg and then in an instant, a pair of hands wrapped a cloak around her from behind, holding it closed as they settled at the front of her waist. She was urged back against a warm body and she felt herself relaxing against his chest. "What are you doing?" she asked him quietly.

"You looked cold." The flippant answer irritated her.

"Yes, but _what_ are you doing?" she asked again.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he returned, infuriatingly obtuse.

"I thought you wouldn't touch a blood traitor," she said, but her heart wasn't really in it.

"And I thought we'd settled that." His lips once again found the spot just below her ear. And, of course, it was just at that moment that the other students started spilling out of the school, excited to be going down to Hogsmeade.

Her eyes fluttered shut as the tall Slytherin worked his way down her neck to the juncture of her shoulder. She knew she should stop him, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it. They were standing right in the way and she could hear conversations cut off into awkward silence as the stream of bodies moved around them.

When the noise from their fellow students faded away, he lifted his head. This had been a show, of course, something for the benefit of others. Her curiosity flared. He was obviously using her, but to what end?

"Why?" she asked quietly, opening her eyes. Ginny wasn't entirely sure he would answer.

There was a long moment of silence, long enough that if his hands weren't still holding his cloak around her, pressing her against the length of his body, she would have thought he'd gone. "Husband number eight just turned up dead, and he was very well-connected," he said at last.

That explained it, then. A proud Slytherin fraternizing with a Weasley would draw a great deal of attention, perhaps even enough to lighten the scrutiny on his mother.

She turned in his arms, bracing her hands on his chest and letting her head fall back so she could look up into his admittedly handsome face. "And what do I get out of it, Zabini?"

"It's Blaise now," he corrected her. "And you didn't really seem to care two minutes ago when I was kissing your neck in front of everyone." He raised an eyebrow when he saw the fiery temper beginning to glow in her eyes, and a small smile played at his lips. "There would be a lot less suspicion on you, wouldn't there? And," he continued, leaning forward to flick his tongue against her earlobe, "I think you're very desperate for an escape from the _courage_ and _bravery_ that everyone is so happily pushing at you."

It was true. All of it was true. Ginny abandoned herself to her dangerous escape, closing her eyes again, arching her neck over to allow him easier access to the sensitive skin there.

"Miss Weasley," came the smooth, disdainful voice of the Headmaster. "Kindly unwrap yourself from-" The cold voice faltered when Zabini- Blaise- lifted his lips from the outside of her ear and met the dark eyes of their Headmaster.

Ginny looked over her shoulder at the dour man. "Just doing my part to promote inter-house relations," she told him, voice deceptively demure as her eyes flashed sparks.

"Giving up your Hogsmeade weekend, Zabini?" Snape drawled, his face twisting into a sneer.

"It would appear so, Professor," Zabini replied in his deep, arrogant voice.

Without further words, the black robes flared out as Snape turned from them and went back into the castle.

Her companion spotted the white envelope trapped between her hand and his chest. "Is that the invitation to the Slug Club Christmas party?" he asked quietly.

She turned back to him, eyes still snapping with irritation. "Yes."

His brown eyes bored into hers. "You're going with me," he declared.

"You didn't ask me," she replied, her eyes narrowing a little.

"No. I didn't."

* * *

Blaise met her just outside the portrait of The Fat Lady. She was aware of the Gryffindor Common Room's worth of eyes peering curiously out at the pair of them. He stepped into her just as he always seemed to, dipping his head down to kiss her cheek, so close to the corner of her mouth. He lingered there for a moment and she breathed in the rich smell of sandalwood that she'd come to associate with him.

He straightened and gestured her down the hall, his hand passing lightly over the small of her back.

He'd come to her a few times over the past week, always sneaking up on her and always in a semi-public location where they were guaranteed to be spotted. And, to tell the truth, Ginny was starting to look forward to the less-than-clandestine meetings. Her friends were considerably less than enthusiastic; all except Lavender, who declared Ginny lucky and kept pressing for intimate details.

When Ginny had been pulled from the middle of a conversation with Seamus into the Slytherin's embrace, Seamus had later rounded on her with, "Is he a vampire or something? He's always on at your bloody neck." He was, and Ginny had taken to wearing her hair in a pony tail.

However, it had been easy to get to the DA meeting that week. As Blaise had predicted, Ginny was being watched a lot less closely.

They walked through the halls to the Potions-Master's office in an easy silence. They never did spend a whole lot of time talking, which was a welcome break from the nonstop questions and theories and demands provided by her fellow DA members.

The professor's office was done up rather ostentatiously for the Christmas party. Green and red decorations covered every available surface, including swaths of garland passing across the ceiling, punctuated at each end by a bundle of mistletoe; and sheer, gaudy silks hanging down to cover the walls.

The party was in full swing when they arrived. Professor Slughorn was already busily taking pictures with all of his more important guests. The Carrow twins were standing in a knot with their dates and Melinda Bobbin was talking to someone from the Slug Club of decades past.

Her date excused himself to get them drinks and Ginny found herself suddenly cornered by a very drunk Sybill Trelawney. Her unfocused eyes had lit up when Ginny entered the room and she used the opportunity to run over.

"Death," she started, and Ginny bit back a frustrated groan. It always was death with this one. The redhead was certainly glad that she was taking Divination from Firenze, or she might not be able to finish out the class.

"No death here," Ginny stated politely, eyes scanning around for an escape route. She'd been quite literally backed into a silk-swathed corner, and her only escape lay through her inebriated teacher.

"An old woman, death comes for the old woman." Trelawney's voice took on that melodramatic cast she used when she was trying to convince people that she knew what she was talking about, unaware that the effect was ruined by the slur that the large amount of cooking sherry she'd imbibed was producing.

Ginny's brown eyes flashed in annoyance. She scanned the room for her tall date, but he was nowhere to be found. "No old women here, I'm afraid, just the Slug Club." She refrained from pointing out that the Divination professor could be considered an old woman. After all, that wouldn't have been polite

"Your friends... your brother..."

Ginny's attention snapped back to the older witch. The young Gryffindor was starting to get a bit desperate. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to be having at all, let alone in front of a large crowd of people, some of whom would undoubtedly bring it up again at a later date in a less-than-positive fashion. "My brother's at home with spattergroit," she said firmly. "It wouldn't do to infect half the school, would it?"

"He's not..." came the dramatic hiss, one pointed finger waving back in forth just in front of Ginny's nose. They were starting to draw some attention at this point.

"Excuse me," Ginny said, and finally pushed bodily past the Divination professor. She headed out to the office's private balcony, her face flushed and her breath coming in grateful gulps. She braced a hand on the railing and leaned over it, willing her speeding heart to slow down.

A familiar hand slid deftly around her waist to rest comfortably on her abdomen and a warm kiss was pressed against her bare shoulder. She straightened and then relaxed against him, her hand coming to cover his own. A cup of punch came into view, and she took it and drank eagerly.

"We'll take the pictures, we'll have a moment under the mistletoe, and then we'll leave." He was whispering his intentions directly in her ear the way he always did, with quiet insistence that brooked no refusal, or even discussion.

She nodded. She was ready to be away from there. The moment with Trelawney had unsettled her far more than she even cared to admit. Blaise plucked the empty punch cup from her hand and left it on the balcony, then drew her back into the office. They joined the press of people around the self-important Potions professor and took their picture together, Slughorn standing between them with a hand on each of their shoulders.

And then, after the camera flash had stopped, Blaise was pulling her into a secluded part of the office, half-obscured by gauzy decorations. A glance upward showed a bundle of tiny leaves with white berries and Ginny settled herself against her companion. One long finger tipped up her chin and he met her lips for the first time since they'd begun their arrangement. The soft kiss lasted only an instant and then he was moving away, drawing her with him behind a portrait and down a narrow flight of stairs. She looked about her curiously, she'd never been this way before. Pushing aside another portrait at the bottom of the stairs revealed an empty classroom.

While evidently disused, the room was clear of dust and cobwebs. The house elves obviously cleaned every part of Hogwarts, whether it was readily used or not.

Ginny moved away from her handsome date and went to sit on a desk. To her surprise, after flicking his wand to shroud them in silence, he followed and sat beside her, settling an arm around her waist.

"Do you really think we'll be discovered here?" she asked quietly.

"No," came the steady response. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Your brother doesn't have spattergroit, does he?" he asked after a while.

She shook her head before she knew what she was doing. "No," she responded. "Your mother killed all of her husbands, didn't she?"

"Yes." He took one of the hands she had resting loosely on her lap, his thumb brushing over the back of it in a way that was almost tender. "I'm going to visit you over the holiday." Again, he wasn't asking her, merely informing her of what was to happen.

"Is that really a good idea?" she asked. "You'd be subjecting yourself to a house full of blood traitors." There wasn't as much sting in her words as she'd meant there to be.

"True. But you want me to."

"Yes," she whispered. She thought of her brothers meeting her standoffish companion and had to giggle a little bit. "George and Fred are going to have a go at you."

"I understand you have a lot of older brothers."

"Six of them. Although," her voice took on a note of sadness, "likely only four will be there. And I don't think my house is going to be quite the level of..." she paused, searching for the right word. "Grandness that you're used to." Ginny was not ashamed of her humble background, but she had a hard time picturing her rather affluent companion among the battered and worn furniture of The Burrow.

"I know." His hand left hers and moved her face up again for another gentle kiss.

She swallowed as he moved away. "I've never really had a boy over before. Aren't you worried they won't like you?"

"No. They probably won't, and I don't think I'll like them too much, either. However." He paused, his brown eyes boring into hers. "I'm not with them. I'm with you."

* * *

Ginny's family had, rather predictably, taken to her new beau just about as well as her friends did. The twins had declared him a prat, her mum had been openly disapproving and urged Ginny to find someone else, "Like that nice Longbottom boy," and even her dad had shook his head after Blaise had left.

He swept in one day, distant and arrogant. He'd eyed the homey fixtures of The Burrow critically, then taken Ginny outside for a broom ride and, when they were on the ground again, pulled her into the orchard, away from the comfortable shabbiness of her home. He'd presented her with an exquisitely beautiful gold and peridot necklace, accepted the Quidditch gloves she had for him with a graceful and heartfelt gratitude that surprised her, and they'd spent some time with their arms around each other, enjoying each other's company. He'd declined her invitation to stay for dinner, not that it surprised her, and then he was gone again, not to see each other again until school resumed in January.

She waited for him at King's Cross Station, her brown eyes scanning the crowd, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. Where was he? She was wearing the necklace he'd given her, clutching the small pendant between her fingers like a talisman.

At last she spotted his head above the crowd, moving unerringly toward her. Everything else fell away as his hand slipped into the small of her back and he ducked down to cover her lips with his. His eyes met hers as he straightened and they stood together. She couldn't help it, she moved forward until her head was resting against his chest.

The whispers about them had calmed down for the most part. Their fellow students were used to seeing them together now and other than dirty looks from her House and knowing smirks from his, they were left alone to wait silently until the call to board rang out across platform 9 ¾.

They claimed a compartment for their own and he lay across the seat with his head pillowed in her lap and their fingers laced together. "I missed you," she said after a time. "This isn't... What it started as. Us, I mean."

"I know," he replied. "Do you regret it?" His deep voice, usually confidently arrogant, held a note of uncertainty. Just enough to make Ginny wonder if she imagined it.

"No," she replied quickly.

His hand lifted up and one long finger traced down her neck, coming to lift the delicate gold chain he'd given her. "It's going to get difficult for all of us."

"I know," she replied. Neither one of them had to mention the almost palpable undercurrent of tension that was very certain to come to a head, and just as certain to do it soon.

"Your friend, the blond one with the big eyes..."

"Luna?" she prompted.

"She's been taken." His voice was as gentle as she'd ever heard it.

She gasped sharply, immediately flooded with worry about her Ravenclaw friend. It had to have something to do with the Quibbler. Xeno Lovegood had published a lot of very pro-Harry articles lately, and that wasn't likely to go over very well. "Is she... alive?"

"As far as I know." He didn't share how he knew and she didn't ask.

She desperately wished there was something she could do. She'd known Luna for years, and now... Her hand tightened in his. "You're going to have to pick a side." The truth, almost whispered, fell from her lips between them.

"I don't know if I can join you."

She was not shocked by his honesty or by the statement itself. She leaned forward to kiss him, the ends of her ponytail falling over her shoulder. "I hope you will."

"I could take you away from here." That offer did surprise her. The look in his eyes told her he was being sincere.

"Where would we go?" she asked curiously.

"Away. I have family in Italy we could stay with."

"I'm 16. I still have the trace until August." Her brothers had told her all about the trace when they'd been talking about the plans to get Harry out of the Dursley's house. That seemed so long ago, like it was another lifetime. She'd been so concerned and so in love and if anyone had suggested that she'd be sitting in a train compartment, snuggled up with the handsome Slytherin, she would have laughed and laughed. Now, though... Now everything had changed. She hardly even thought about Harry anymore, and when she did it was attached to Ron and Hermione and it was a fervent hope that they were all ok.

"We could go the muggle way, or we could fly. How many Quidditch positions have you held now? Certainly enough to know your way around a broom." He'd taken on that slightly mocking tone he had.

"Just the two," she replied hotly, her eyes flashing. He raised his eyebrow, a small smile at his lips, and stared up at her until she sighed, calming. She knew her temper amused him. "I can't leave my family in this," she told him, regret coloring her voice.

He was not surprised by her answer.

They sat together in silence for a while until she glanced out the window. "I haven't met your mum," she said with forced lightness. "And you've met, well, most of my family."

"She wouldn't approve of you," he declared, brushing her statement away. When she looked back down at him, her eyes held his until he felt compelled to continue. "You're a pureblood, and that would make her happy, but your family is horribly poor and you consort with muggleborns as though they are equals. She wouldn't find much use for you, and that's what she thinks is important in any relationship." His tone was matter-of-fact. After all, his mother had killed eight wizards to increase their wealth and, over the Christmas break, had already settled on husband number nine.

She swallowed hard, fighting against the anger that threatened to rise, and looked away again. "You have use for me," she said, staring very hard at the condensation on the inside of the window.

"And you have use for me. But I thought we'd settled that." His finger trailed down the side of her neck again.

She leaned down and kissed him again. " I guess we have."


End file.
